The film leaves a lot to be desired, but a star is re-born.

The only reason to watch Simmba is Ranveer Singh. The actor is fully alive to the moment, knowing that he is working in a template, aware that he has to keep breaking out.

The most disheartening part about Simmba is its bipolar pursuit of relevance. The setup was the film; there was no need to embrace the guileless-sermon path. Just letting Singh play the fool, without hindrance, might have finally lent credence to the Rohit Shetty School of non-storytelling.

Simmba boils down to yet another poorly pencilled script that tries to compensate it’s shortcomings with every other ludicrous means.

Simmba is the kind of film that derides toxic masculinity while ill-advisedly celebrating unbridled virility as a necessary component of law enforcement. Instill fear in the hearts of the wrongdoers, Singham advises Simmba. And how, pray, do you do that? Simmba advocates throwing due process out the window and embracing another flagrant form of lawlessness. And that can only be dangerous.

Ranveer Singh’s pizzazz is lost to a clichéd women’s rights saga that sidelines women…

It’s ironical, and highly unforgivable, that a movie that attempts to empower women, doesn’t even give its female characters much to do, barring handing them token lines so their Simmba can play hero.